


Edge of a Knife

by orphan_account



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Normal High School, Bodyswap, Bullying, Childhood Friends, Childhood Trauma, Dysfunctional Family, Explicit Language, Family Issues, Injury Recovery, M/M, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Past Relationship(s), Past Sexual Abuse, Psychological Trauma, Recovery, Relationship(s), Scars, Self-Harm, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-04
Updated: 2017-08-04
Packaged: 2018-12-10 15:49:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11694885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: After a near-death experience by Tuchkov Bridge, Yuri finds himself in the body of another Yuri, Yuri Plisetsky--a withdrawn, victim of bullying at the local high school.Subjected to a life beyond his own control, Yuri plays the part of the Plisetsky "golden child", only to submit to the scars that threaten to reopen behind locked doors. With an attitude that one could only describe as"Brooklyn Rage",Yuri begins standing up for his bodyswap but then, he encounters a ghost from his past."I hated you, ever since you let go of my hand on that bridge in Budapest..."~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Warnings will be listed in the beginning of each chapter's notes.Updates are irregular at the moment. Scheduled-updates will commence shortly.





	Edge of a Knife

**Author's Note:**

> It's been recommended to me that I should write a story where I could dump my emotional frustrations and stress. That it's okay to write a /coarse/ story and that not everything is sugarplums and rainbows.
> 
> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
> 
> //The following events portrayed in this story are in no way/shape/form related to any real persons, events, or locations. Any references done were purely unintentional and are by no means done with malicious intent. This entire work is purely fictional with subtle satire to the twisted society that we've come to question, and updates will be irregular. Depending on real life events, stress, and other factoring details. 
> 
> If you are squeamish to graphic violence, explicit language, physical/verbal/cyber-bullying, family issues, and/or "odd" circumstances/situations, this work may not be for you. Likewise, if you enjoy "gritty" things, developing friendships, mystery, slow burn romance, physical/mental recovery, and/or darker themes, this work may be for you.//

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning[s]: non-explicit rape, physical/mental bullying, loss of self-worth, attempted suicide, coarse language, and implied childhood abuse
> 
> In no way/shape/form do I condone anything that happened in this chapter, nor do I attempt to glamorize negative situations.

He wondered what it felt like,  _ six feet under. _

Gagged and bound above the surface, stripped of a gentleman’s dignity. Exposed of everything that he tried to hide, but people laughed. Tearing off more, reopening his scars. Drawing blood from his weaknesses, and he couldn’t do anything. Simply slumped against a shipping box while a male had his fun.

Faces hidden behind GoPros and phones, consumed in an animalistic ritual.  _ He,  _ he was the prey. His body not his own, his tongue wrestled back into its crevice by a rougher creature. Gnawing at his chapped lips, thirsting for more underneath the surface. He kicked the predator. Head crooked to the side, refused to meet anyone’s eyes.

Flashes ricocheted like gunshots. A dirty finger forced his chin up. A twisted-figure melting to their touch.  Exactly what was wanted before others emerged from the darkness. In high skirts or sagging pants, a crooked grin sewn across their faces.

So he closed his eyes. They were done in eight minutes.  _ All of them. _ Enough pictures, enough pleasure, and more than enough blackmail to circulate on the web. He didn’t open his eyes.

_ Humiliation.  _ That was the only reward for standing up for yourself. No one cared of how hard you tried, or from where you came from. If you had something that others didn’t, it was only natural for others to resent you. To hate you, beat you, and remind you. Time and time again, that nothing was going to change. It was all part of the Human Condition, and he was just another stool that needed its legs chopped off. Pushed down the stairs for others to laugh at, for others to feel better about themselves before leaving him at the bottom.

Much like now. Left alone in a storage room behind the school. Wrists loosen from their bonds and he was allowed to rest. To tug on his gentleman’s dignity and call it quits.

Yuri shoved his sleeves over his scars and stumbled out. Dragging the door behind him until it closed with a snap. Wandering down the road, lugging the past fifteen minutes behind him. The bullies had taken it too far. He needed to tell someone, but his words were caught in the back of his throat and Yuri was quiet again. Holding onto the railing along a bridge for support. Holding onto the phone buried in his pocket, but he couldn’t call anyone. Not his family, not his grandfather, not the people he thought he could trust.

This was  _ his  _ fault.

Yuri saw a man wandering down the street, groceries in hand. A purpose in his life when he strove forward. Yuri leaned against the railing.

He wondered what it felt like,  _ six feet under. _

No one had to put up with him anymore.

* * *

 

When he left the grocery store that night, Yuri figured that he had two and half weeks left before his next paycheck. Two more grocery visits before his wallet was officially empty, the things you had to know when you were living alone. Yuri didn’t mind. He had a few treats buried in his grocery bags, like pancake mix when he wanted to relive his childhood again.

_ Childhood, huh? _

Yuri kicked a curb with the edge of his sneaker. If the brunette thought hard enough, he could almost hear his father’s illicit actions from a block away. That was impossible, but nobody said that fear  _ had  _ to be rational. And with a four hour distance between the two, Yuri wouldn’t bat an eyelash if his old man showed up. Wandering down the street with an ornament under his arm.

_ The bastard. _

Yuri rustled his grocery bags. Taking each step with adventure at the tip of his foot. Because his mama told him that life was all about adventures, so how was the adventure with dad? His fingernails dug into his own palm. There were some adventures that didn’t need to be relived, and Yuri lived with that philosophy for the past five years. Moving from apartment to apartment, looking for a means of survival in what little he had.

A coat from a distant-cousin, shoes from the trash, hair that he styled with a pocketknife, and a temperament that he inherited from his old man. Nothing short of an unforgiving life, but Yuri was fortunate.

Nineteen years old and he was buying his  _ own  _ groceries. With his  _ own  _ money, to boot. Not bad for a street rat from Moscow. Yuri had to give himself credit for that. The cold weather had begun to pick up and soon, Yuri would spend his next winter with a shabby, brown coat. Tucking toilet paper into the pockets managed to block some wind, but Yuri needed to find another apartment.  _ Again.  _ One with a working heater this time but then, he would have to cut back on the little treats he liked to buy for himself.

Yuri gazed down into one of his grocery bags. A box of pancake mix looked up at him, like a miniature Yuri that used to hold onto his mama’s sleeve when she made pancakes for dinner. Buttery syrup splashed over the fluffy cakes, running  _ glazed  _ rivers down the side before little Yuri’s teeth sunk into the squishy flesh. That was a memory that Yuri thought he had forgotten, but he already knew that his pancakes won’t taste as good as his mama’s.

It wasn’t going to be a meal anymore, that was certain.

Yuri took a blissful stroll along the side of Tuchkov Bridge. A nice, get-away place with the rush of cars next to you, and the depths of a frigid pool to your other side. Walking down a thin tightrope between two kinds of deaths, but Yuri was no stranger on the path less traveled on. Weighed down with groceries, taking the bridge was the fastest route to home and Yuri couldn’t afford a taxi in this weather.

But even so, it was cold as Hell when the wind picked up again. Teeth chattering up and down, Yuri’s eyes locked onto another’s momentarily. A blonde youth, a teenager leaning against the railing of the bridge. Staring blankly into the congested traffic with...Yuri dropped the tough-guy act when he passed by the shivering teen. Only a thin, school uniform kept out the wind, but Yuri couldn’t spare his jacket.

It was a shitty jacket, but it was  _ his  _ jacket. It was something that someone tossed to him on a whim, and Yuri couldn’t let it go. Because it was one of the few things that he owned, and there was nothing else he could give. But if the teen had a school uniform, he should’ve been at home. Tucked in a nice house with a good family, and all the warmth he could ever have.

_ Damn teens and their problems.  _ Yuri pulled a cigarette out from his pocket, gnawing at the tip because he left his lighter back at the apartment. If someone had a family that  _ actually  _ cared for them, why  _ would  _ you feel sad?

A splash stopped Yuri in his tracks.

He turned his head.

The teen by the railing was gone. More than six feet under when Yuri rushed to the edge, hollering at the top his lungs. Grocery bags swung near his hip when he squinted into the black water. Oncoming traffic flickered light across the surface, and Yuri saw the youth’s hair. Illuminating across the frigid surface before the body was pulled under.

_ “Fuck. My. Life!” _

Yuri threw his groceries down, peeled out from his jacket, and jumped over. Cursing at every little grievance in his life when the frigid water tightened around his chest. Jacket in his hands, Yuri treaded across the water’s surface. Whipping his bangs back, on the lookout for blonde hair or a hand or  _ anything.  _ Daggers seared into Yuri’s skin. His body trembled so much, he barely kept afloat. Breathing as hard as he could, Yuri dunked his head below the surface. Spotted a thin outline of a hand sinking into the darkness.

Yuri emerged from five inches of Hell, panted like a pig before the slaughter, and dunked down. Kicking his legs, keeping his jacket close to his body so that he was faster. Imagining his happy place when he carved deeper into the water. Latched onto the teen’s hand and swam up to the surface. Battling the frigid water with an unconscious youth in his arms, clothing the kid with his jacket, and slapping the boy’s face.

“Wake up. Hey, can you hear me?”

Yuri eventually lost his voice, internalizing his own words to keep warm. There was nothing to hold onto, and Yuri’s screams for help would only be drowned out by the oncoming traffic. He had nothing. He and the teen were going to die. Period.

_ I can’t die. _

The single thought kept Yuri rational. He hugged the unconscious teen against him and waved an arm. Hoping that someone would see the movement and call for help.

Minutes ticked on, and Yuri lost feeling in both of his legs. His arm drooping lower as hundreds of cars passed by, but no one came. Until Yuri,  _ too, _ sank six feet under.

* * *

 

_ “Mama, what’s Hell?”  _ Yuri was only four years old when he asked his mama. A deep gash across her left cheek. Fingers curved around the fragments of a flowering vase. Spilled water and roses across little Yuri’s feet.

His mama pulled her hair behind an ear.  _ “A place where you’ll never be.” _

* * *

 

Yuri didn’t believe that he was alive until he heard a heart monitor.  _ His  _ heart monitor. Beeping steadily with green lines shooting up and down across a black screen. He tried to sit up, but plastic tubes and a mask clogged his front while needles buried into his arm. A bag of water or medication hovering next to him on an IV stand, and Yuri was alone.

Forced to accept that a bastard was kind enough to save him and the teen. Speaking of which, where was the blonde? Yuri glanced to his left and right. Meeting nothing but the whiteness of a hospital’s walls. Perhaps, the kid was okay. Perhaps, the kid was a goner. Didn’t suit well in Yuri’s mind, but he had to accept the fact that the teen attempted suicide as an escape. An escape from what? Yuri didn’t know, and it was probably too late to ask. But there was a funny feeling coiled against Yuri’s stomach, and he was a survivor in a tragedy.  _ Again. _

Someone came into the room. Two people. A nurse and an elderly man. The two whispered quietly before realizing that Yuri was awake, and the man had a few questions. Namely, who was the elderly dude?

_ “He may be awake, but we’re unsure if--” _

“We can discuss this later.” The elderly man pulled up a chair and sat next to Yuri. “Let me be with my grandson for a few minutes.”

The nurse left the two aone, and Yuri forced his eyes to look into the elderly man’s. He had never seen the man before. As far as Yuri knew, the only grandparents he had left were in Budapest, and none of them looked like  _ this  _ man. A weathered stone with a beret on top of his head. Frightening to think about, but this elderly man made those features warm and for a moment, Yuri believed that he  _ was  _ the grandson to this man.

He  _ wasn’t. _

Yuri brought his hand up to pull off the breathing mask, but his fingers only hovered above it.  _ These  _ hands.  _ These  _ fingers. Two clean and smooth. Did the doctors scrub his fingernails or something? Yuri forced himself to get up. Loosening tubes and digging a few deeper down his throat. Soft bangs skimming past his nose and forehead, and Yuri seriously doubted that the doctors gave him a bath while he was unconscious.

Right across from him was a mirror. Green eyes looked back at Yuri but all his life, the man knew he had dark eyes. Not green or blonde hair or a childish face or…

_ “Yurochka.” _

Yuri turned his head, slowly. The elderly man-- _ his apparent grandfather-- _ bore a heavy sigh.

_ “The man that saved your life died a few minutes ago.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, there are two Yuris in this chapter. The first Yuri is Yuri Plisetsky--a withdrawn, victim of bullying. The second Yuri is a 19 y.o., who lives on his own ever since he left his father five years ago. They're two, separate characters but by a chance of fate, there bodies have been switched.


End file.
